


Wringing His Hands

by HoddieMaine



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, more like hinted Bert/Reiner, only sort of Bert/reiner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 14:03:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoddieMaine/pseuds/HoddieMaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I NEEDED to put something up and it was too much pressure with this being my first ever SNK piece and my first ANYTHING on ao3 to be anything of substance. Hopefully it doesn't suck too bad. Posting this from my phone so hopefully I don't jack it up. Written while listening to  THIS  which funny enough is a JeanMarco mix inspired by Lownly's Like A Drum.</p></blockquote>





	Wringing His Hands

Wringing his hands he stood barefoot on the unforgivingly cold stone floor. Chancing a glance at his reflection, he was nearly sick in the sink in front of him. Coughing, he quickly crossed the open bathroom to the community showers. Shedding the sweat soaked clothes, filthy from training, the young man, really no more than a boy started the faucet. When the smaller enclosing filled with steam, Bertholdt stepped into the spray. 

Hot water cascaded down hard muscles, even tighter with stress. Not long ago they had been soft. Everything had not been so hard then. He turned the knob, hot water growing even hotter, dangerously so. The heat didn't even register. He wished it did.

Warm rivulets of water ran down his cheeks, despite the falling water never having reached his face. He ached and he wished he could blame it on the vigorous workout like his fellow trainees. Silent sobs racked the soft spoken soldier-to-be. Soldier, warrior, killer, liar, it didn't matter what name tag he wore, he hated himself nonetheless. 

The heavy wooden door leading to the barracks creaked open. He wiped at his tears despite knowing how unnecessary the action was.

"Bert?" Riener peeked his head around the door. "I'm going to bed." 

"I'll be out in minute." 

His best friend retreated into the boisterous laughter and arguing of bunks full of teenage boys winding down for the night. Bertholdt turned off the water and reached for his towel. He would lay in his bed, not even a gap between his mattress and the ones on either side. He may even cross that all but nonexistent valley and let Reiner hold him. If he cried or dreams of heat and death made him toss, the other boy would say nothing, merely smooth his hair and look on him with sad eyes, not even remembering that he should hate himself as well, and really that caused him more pain and tears than his own self-loathing ever could.

**Author's Note:**

> I NEEDED to put something up and it was too much pressure with this being my first ever SNK piece and my first ANYTHING on ao3 to be anything of substance. Hopefully it doesn't suck too bad. Posting this from my phone so hopefully I don't jack it up. Written while listening to THIS which funny enough is a JeanMarco mix inspired by Lownly's Like A Drum.


End file.
